


electric in your blood

by sansapotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, Stardust - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/pseuds/sansapotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wishes always came with concequences, Sansa should have realized she was no different from anyone else. Written for the jon x sansa remix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	electric in your blood

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve certainly taken liberties with the story because I know most of us are familiar with the original :) I hope it’s enjoyable nonetheless!

_I wish, I wish._

For a moment, there was silence, and Sansa supposed the stars had better things to concern themselves with. They’d rescued Lyanna before, but Sansa didn’t need saving. Insecurity was Sansa’s plague, worry that no one would ever love her, only her name. Harry was capable of love, or affection, that much was obvious, but never for her. 

The ground shook, rattling the lush leaves. Sansa could see ash rising from the tree line, a metallic tang held to her tongue, like she’d been struck by lightning. The closer she drew the clearer she could see that it was not ash, or smoke that rose but something that shimmered. At first she thought it was snow, but when it landed on her skin it didn’t melt. Stardust.

A young man emerged from the collapsed trees, his clothes were dated but Sansa tried to look past that. His skin was pale, almost luminescent, like he brought the stars with him. She could feel the heat of him, for he burned hot like the sun. He looked like home, and gods after all this time in the Vale, Winterfell was all she could dream of.

“Are you all right?” Her voice trembled, he nodded fixing her with his strange silver eyes.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” 

She led him by the hand to a pond, just on the edge of her aunt’s property. They spoke well into the night. Jon, for he introduced himself as such, offered smiles rarely, but listened intently; he leaned forward and nodded, asking questions as they came, and she answered them with a smile, all but one.

“What did you wish for?”

“If I tell you it won’t come true.”

By day Sansa feigned a broken heart convincingly, but she lived for the nights. By day she would sleep until noon with the shades drawn, but in the evening she would tug them open to bathe in the starlight. For weeks she slipped away to find him, and each night he was there. She’s grown accustomed to the stiff way he sat beside her at the beginning of each night, and delighted in drawing him out. She would speak of Winterfell, and how she longed for home, and he would tell her about the heavens. 

“It must be boring, being down here.” Sansa said. 

“Not at all,” Jon insisted, then after a moment he took her hand. “I was born here you know,” he said softly. “I didn’t get to stay. Never got to see the world, never got to meet my mother.”

Sansa leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder. “I haven’t seen home in years, sometimes I wonder if it would be better to have never known it at all.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes in the middle of the night I wake and think I might still be in the room I shared with my sister. Other times the wind blows just right and I can taste Winterfell on my tongue, and when I close my eyes it might be like I’m home again.” She felt his head lean against hers. “I wonder if I would miss it if I hadn’t known it at all.”

“You would,” Jon said firmly. “You would feel it in your heart, and it would ache”

He kissed her then, tentative, soft. Though their noses bumped, and it took careful twisting, Sansa considered it a kiss from the songs. They kissed for hours, until her lips felt swollen and chapped. Their breath puffed in front of their faces, then he leaned down to her ear and whispered.

“What did you wish for?”

And still she shook her head.

It happened on the first true night of fall. Sansa hardly waited for nightfall, for the telltale shake of the earth, before she all but flew from the Eyrie to the trees where Jon waited. He caught her in his arms, while she pressed kissed all over his face. She couldn’t find it in herself to be embarrassed by her eagerness, she was in love with him. He loved her too, of that she was almost certain.

That night she led him to the weeping willow that grew proud on Aunt Lysa’s property. She’d been dreaming of this moment for weeks, since that first night, and in all of her dreams she gave herself to him under the willow.

They drank from a skin of wine, one she had taken from the stores which were so vast it was not likely to be missed. Sansa was sure, but nerves still fluttered in her belly. When Jon kissed her, she was positive he loved her. 

The grass was soft and dewy through her gown when he eased her back. His hands were unsure, and she took comfort in knowing he was no more practiced in this than she was. The girls in the village always talked of the pain that came with losing their maidens gift, Sansa pitied them. Jon was gentle, touching her as though she was made of glass. He kissed her, and kissed her some more, all the while moving and creating a steady rhythm, until she arched against him, searching for a pleasure that was just outside of her reach.

“Show me,” he said taking her hand from where it was thrown above her head and guiding it to that spot between them that made her gasp. She’d only ever done this alone, beneath the furs, biting the fleshy part of her hand to keep herself quiet. Jon followed her motions, then repeated them on her heated skin. 

Under the willow, with only the sky as their witness Jon collapsed against her, his breath a rough saw against her neck. Her skin felt as heated as his, but she longed for the closeness of him. He lifted himself off of her, rolling to his back bringing her with him. She could feel the bump of his nose against her temple where he brushed a kiss.

“What did you wish for Sansa?”

“I wished for someone brave, and gentle, and strong. For someone who I could love, someone who would love me back.” She kissed his collarbone with a turn of her head, before resting her ear against his heart. “I wished for you.”

The next day he wasn’t there.

A week passed,

A month passed.

She drew the curtains.

Sansa fell ill. First she suspected her heart was broken, but weeks later she burned, and she ached so violently a physician was summoned to her bedside. He poked and prodded her methodically, hmm-ing and ahh-ing to himself, examining her over wire spectacles. After he pressed the cool metal of his stethoscope to her belly she heard him say interesting. 

He closed up his bag, and spoke with her Aunt in the doorway. Try as she might Sansa couldn’t seem to hear what they were saying in her fevered state. The doctor was dismissed, and her Aunt was beside her.

“Who?” She asked sharply. “Who did you bespoil yourself with?” She shook Sansa sharply. Probably worried it was her own husband. “Sansa, did you tempt Petyr?” Sansa shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut, she only wanted to sleep. “Then who?”

“A star,” 

Aunt Lysa sent for her mother; Sansa could hear her fighting with her husband into the night. They were sounds she couldn’t make sense of, and the time between her illness and her mother’s arrival were a blur of noises and fleeting moments of clarity. One of the maids brought her meals when Aunt Lysa refused to even look at her. 

“You must eat miss,” she insisted, “for the baby.”

The baby. She was with child. Jon’s child, her hand fluttered to her belly, the change was hardly noticeable, it might have been the knowledge that had Sansa imagining she could feel her belly swelling. She should have listened to Lyanna, wishing on stars wouldn’t end the way she expected. 

Her mother arrived, nearly a week past and was at Sansa’s side before she could even remove her traveling cloak. Sansa wept into her neck when Catelyn pulled her up. She was ten years old when she was sent to the Vale, just like her father. Her mother’s arms around her reminded her of all that she missed from home, and all that had happened over the past eight years. 

“We’ll leave in the morning,” her mother soothed, as she wept. “Did anyone hurt you?” she asked seriously when Sansa’s sobs abated to hiccups.

“No,” Sansa said pulling back, wishing she could add not intentionally anyway, but she understood her mother’s question. She rested against the headboard, her hands settling on the bump that had finally begun to take shape. Her mother’s hand joined hers.

“It will be all right Sansa,” her voice was calm, and Sansa found herself nodding, it wasn’t as she expected, but with her family it would feel like it was just as planned. 

“I think it’s a girl,” she heard herself saying. “Sometimes when I dream I hear her. She has a sweet voice, and I know that no matter how it happened, or how I feel in this moment it will all be worth it.” 

**

Alysanne was born in the spring, and Sansa would swear her skin always smelled of lilacs; the maids at Winterfell insisted she would take after her mother before she even opened her eyes. Her skin fair, auburn tufts of hair already threatening to sprout from her crown. She hoped they were right, that Alys would take after her, and be a normal girl; hopefully, she would show no sign of her father. 

Her mother and Lyanna fussed in the nursery, and Sansa refused to let Alys out of her sight. If someone meant to come from the sky, as the stories told, to take her child they would have to face her. No one rested easy in Winterfell that first year, even in those times Sansa slept, Bran could be found reading to Alys well into the night, or Rickon standing to the side of her cradle with his wooden sword in hand. 

Each morning that she saw her daughter still abed was a relief. As the years passed she became less concerned with strangers in the night, in the evening with the curtains pulled tight she could imagine Alys was her own, the way the women on Bear Isle said their children belonged to only them. Until she reached the age of three Sansa convinced herself those eyes were all she took from her father. 

It started with lemon cakes. Her miniature in every way Alys insisted upon lemon cakes at the close of each meal. No child of Winterfell could claim to be spoiled, but then no grandchild of Ned and Catelyn Stark could honestly say they were not doted on. So for the entirety of autumn lemon cakes graced the dinner table, and Alys ate them from her grandfather’s lap contentedly. 

Soon it grew colder, snow began to fall, and with that the supply from Dorne ended for the season. Alys trudged across the grounds clumsy as could be, clapping her mittened hands when Rickon taught her to make snowballs, marveling at the way the ground shimmered. When the sun went low in the sky Sansa called them in, and scooped her daughter up into her arms. She felt her chin drop against her shoulder, and understood dinner would be a short affair that evening. 

Both Alys and Rickon were sleepy-eyed at the table, even when the topic of Christmas arose. It was only when the plates were cleared, and a dish of pumpkin pudding was set before each of them that Alys became alert. 

“Lemon cake?” She looked to Ned. He shook his head sadly.

“I’m sorry Alys, not until next year.” Her daughter’s face went red, and Sansa sighed looking to the ceiling. 

“Why?” Her lip was quivering.

“I told you my love,” Sansa began, “they’re too far away, and lemon trees won’t take root so far north.”

“But I want them!” Her daughter began to wail. 

“We don’t get what we want all the time sweetling,” Sansa said rising from her chair to lift Alys.

“I wish we could have lemon cakes all year.” Alys mumbled into Sansa’s neck, and Sansa thought little of it.

Until a fully grown lemon tree appeared in the yard the very next day.

Sansa begged her daughter to be mindful, to wish only for what she desperately needed if she must wish at all. Despite her insistence Alys continued to make small wishes, to mend her gowns, fix cracks in the faces of her dolls; sometimes, when she wanted to ride she would wish for it to stop raining. What sort of mother would she be to tell her daughter to stop wishing?

Under the sky that night she tipped her head up, facing the stars and spoke. “If you ever cared about me, even for a moment, you’ll keep them away from her. Don’t let them take her like they took Lyanna’s child.” She blinked back tears, “please, please don’t let them take her.”

Years passed, and suddenly Alys was ten. Ten years old, with sharp eyes that caught everything, observant in a jarringly familiar way, a way Sansa did not see in herself. As she grew older she went from the excitable toddler, to a pensive, quiet girl. Sometimes she would look up at Sansa so thoughtfully, wise beyond her years, and ask about the people in Wintertown. It really shouldn’t have surprised her to hear a question at breakfast, but how did she realize?

“Who’s Jon?” Sansa turned sharply from the counter, her hands gripped the bowls tight. She counted backwards from ten, it was a common name, but somehow she knew her daughter was asking about her father. 

“Where did you hear that name sweetheart?”

“You say it sometimes when you sleep.” Alys shrugged. “You sigh it, like this.” Her daughter, proceeded to do an exaggerated impression of her. Alys always had trouble sleeping, crawling into Sansa’s bed in the middle of the night. Ever since she pleaded to him in the sky, Sansa dreamt of Jon.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Sansa said quickly, too quick, rousing suspicion and she knew that was not the last she would hear about the subject. 

She caught Alys asking everyone in the house, hearing stories of Jon Aryn, Jon Umber the elder, Jon Umber the younger, Jon’s the servants knew, it really was a common name. Nobody reacted the way she wanted them to, and Sansa prayed it would end. Alys pestered everyone about it, to the point that Sansa thought she might have to insist she leave everyone to their business, but then there was Lyanna.

“That was what I called my son,” she said softly, her hands fluttered toward her middle, a gesture Sansa had watched her make a hundred times before, but it carried new weight. “I didn’t know until I saw him, and I thought Jon, a good name. I imagined the Greatjon would foster him some day, maybe even Jon Aryn, you know since he mentored your father.” 

“What happened to him?” Alys asked. The story was whispered when Sansa was a girl, but she’d never heard Lyanna tell it herself, assumed it was too painful to speak of. She pinched her daughter on the arm, shooting her a look that clearly indicated her disapproval. “If you don’t mind?” Alys added rubbing the spot.

“It’s all right,” Lyanna said, letting Alys who she’d always had a soft spot for, settle against her. “I was engaged to be married to a man I knew I could never love. So I did what I thought was best and I wished on a star for something that would make my engagement end.”

“And you had a baby?”

“I did,” she nodded, “and I got my wish, I didn’t have to get married.” She said, “I held my son in my arms, and told him the things he needed to know; he would have your grandparents, and in only a few weeks your Uncle Robb would be born and he’d have a playmate. He may not have a father, but he wouldn’t want for anything.” Lyanna smoothed Alys’ hair, “I gave him to a nursemaid, and the next day they said he was gone, taken from his cradle, like he’d never even been there at all.” 

“The stars took him.” Alys said resolutely. 

“I think so my love,”

The questions stopped after that, and as far as she could tell her daughter had all but forgotten about the mystery. She watched her slink around after Rickon, plotting and scheming in a way befitting her age. Her brother was only thirteen, a doting playmate who encouraged adventures and imaginings. It worried Sansa sometimes, but then she would remember her brother, hardly old enough to hold a sword watching at Alys’ bedside to keep the stars away.

It was one night, well after the children had been put to bed that Sansa closed her eyes and drifted into a light sleep. The way she had slept since Alys was born, if she were honest with herself it was the way she slept since she spent her last year in the Vale.

She knew something was wrong before the sharp rap came on the door, hair a mess she pulled it open, knotting her dressing gown at her waist. Jory, captain of the house guard waited for her, leading her away at a brisk pace, but Sansa felt the earth shake and even though it had been years she knew what it meant.

“Where’s my daughter?” He looked at her warily.

“It looks like she ran away,” he said, “her window was opened, your brother is gone too.” She held her hand to her heart, at least Rickon was with her, if she only ran away Rickon would keep her safe until they were found. She couldn’t shake the feeling that stirred her nerves, that the quake meant something more than a trick of her mind.

“Did you feel it?” Lyanna asked as they walked the grounds, none of the horses missing meant the children hadn’t gone too far. “The way you felt it before, when a star falls?”

Sansa nodded, clenching her hands tight, feeling the pinch of her nails on her palms. The air was crisp, but didn’t bite like it would in the winter. Her eyes darted to the treeline looking for the signs she knew in her heart, the ones she tried to forget. 

There it was. 

She’d never been known for her athleticism, preferring to take the slower, more lady-like walk around the grounds. It was a surprise her feet didn’t catch in her nightgown, but she made it, twinge under her ribs, breath coming in short pants, but she made it. 

Alys and Rickon looked at her with wild eyes, how could they not. She focused on their faces, unharmed, but for the scrapes that came from trekking through the forest under cover of darkness. She pulled them to her, consoled, breath slowing. She wasn’t ready to notice him.

She could hear everyone else drawing closer, the clop clop, of the horses. Alys started to sob against her shoulder, “please don’t be mad mama.”

“What did you wish for Alys?” she wondered, prying her away so she could look at her. 

Between big hiccupping gasps Alys said, “I just wished Lyanna could have her son back is all, that’s all mama I promise.” 

“It’s all right,” Sansa insisted, trying to soothe her, all the while wondering what horrible thing would come to be. What price would they pay for this, she peeked over her shoulder to see Jon, her Jon watching them. Before she could speak, ask him for answers, the search party had arrived. While Sansa couldn’t bring herself to look at Jon for longer than a second, Lyanna couldn’t look away. 

He was startled, she could see it in the tense way his limbs hung when she hugged him; slowly his circled around Lyanna’s middle, they mumbled to each other. Sansa wondered how she never saw the resemblance before, but then so much time had passed between seeing Lyanna, and meeting Jon. 

There would be time for questions later, Lyanna was insistent that the man who fell from the sky was indeed her son, and that was enough. Whatever Jon had said to her convince her that he was staying worked, and though Sansa caught him trying to meet her eye when she was most definitely not staring he kept his distance. All the better, she would be sure to keep Alys away too.

Of course her daughter was a force of nature, and enamored with him. Of course she had gone against Sansa’s wishes before she could even speak them. Jon indulged Alys, making her laugh with odd jokes, and their faces would scrunch in identical ways. Wherever Jon went Alys was not far behind, and it lasted for weeks. Still Jon gave her space until she hardly even saw him. 

Furious she sought him out. Intent on dragging him away from whatever task he’d taken up to spend his time. Maddeningly he was waiting at the gate, as though he knew she would be there. “Would you like to speak with me? We could walk if you wanted,” he was so earnest when he said it she might have made to forgive him there.

“Why did you go?” She blurted out, forgetting the conversations she once imagined having. “I waited for you, and you never came back.”

“I wanted to.” He said, taking her hand, hesitating as though she might tug it away. She had half the mind to do just that, “But I couldn’t, wishes are tricky, my father might be trickier. He forbade me, and when I tried to disobey he sent me to terrible places, places with war, and more wishes than anyone can grant. Up there you can’t get too far without permission.”

“Why now then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asked, and she could feel his thumb on her hand, “your-our daughter made a selfless wish, you can’t be punished for such a thing because you don’t gain anything.” He smiled Alys’ smile at her, “I don’t have to go back, ever.”

“How can you be sure they won’t take her?”

“Trust me on this Sansa, even if you’re cross with me for the rest of our lives, trust me when I say they will leave her alone.”

“And you’re staying?”

“As long as you’ll have me, all of you.”

He meant it, she knew he did. “It will take some time you know,”

“Of course,” he nodded, “I would wait forever if I had to.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://www.sansapotter.tumblr.com)


End file.
